Out of Sight, Out of Mind
by Neva
Summary: Completed. A TCP story about a girl who finds out that her best friend is a mutant. How will she cope? (My answer to all those fics where the girl is perfectly delighted with the situation and usually turns out to have powers herself.)
1. Prologue

A/N: This is an alternate version of the first story to win me recognition for being anti-Xavier. That one was set in the movieverse, but I thought it would be fun to give my characters Evo incarnations just like Marvel did. A few of my characters' names have been changed for seriously annoying reasons. And the prologue takes place after the rest of the story is finished.  
  
Disclaimer: This is me, not owning the Evo characters. I do own Phoebe and those close to her. If anyone says different, I will sic my muse on you.  
  
Dedication: For supporters of the Cause. Naturally.  
  
Prologue  
  
The room is dark, smoky, filled with people. I recognize a few of the old crowd; Jasmine and Kevin are dancing wildly together. Jeff, Brian, and Pat are laughing and drinking in a corner -- why'd Jasmine invite them, anyway? The stereo blares a song with a fast, heavy beat, something that makes me want to rise from the chair where I've been slumped for the past hour, move my feet, wave my arms, and lose myself, if just for a little while.  
  
This is the difference between last summer and this one. Last summer, I was a music counselor-in-training at an artsy camp in the boondocks, but the group still managed to hang out before I left and after I came back. We all knew what the future would bring, or at least the next year. Angelina vowed that this year, she'd make sure the school paper didn't turn down her editorials. Jasmine aimed to apply for the National Honor Society, make the lacrosse team, become a fully developed individual despite the fact that she was still surgically attached to Kevin Travis, and three or four other things I've forgotten. I wanted to join the All-State Vocal Group, and Stephen and I were still circling each-other in a _he's-a-boy-and-he's-a-friend-but-is-he..._ sort of way. Whether our goal for this year was to finally get together was anybody's guess.  
  
Now, I suppose, we'll never know.  
  
We took a lot of pictures this summer -- hanging out at the lake, our trip to the county fair, the six of us grinning into the camera as if we truly believed that friends forever was a possibility. There's a photo of the two of us, as well. The photographer -- I think it was Angelina -- caught us by surprise. When I looked at the picture again today, I was startled again, this time by how much of a stranger the girl in the picture seems. It's hard to believe we're the same person. Her reddish-blond hair is wildly curly, the result of a perm that I've since grown out. Her face is spattered with freckles, and she looks so happy. She's on vacation, she's with a guy she thinks she likes and who likes her, and she doesn't have a care in the world. He doesn't look like he cares about much, either. I doubt he'd recognize himself now, either.  
  
Even his own family has broken contact with us. I used to baby-sit Violet, but her parents are miraculously spending more and more time at home. If they're okay enough with what he is to have sent him away in the first place, why aren't they okay with admitting what's going on after he's safely out of sight? Why do they act like they're over it? Like I said, they barely mention his name, nor do they ever mention Xavier. Which is fine by me.  
  
If he would talk to me again, I would tell him that it's not his fault. That I don't hate him for being... I still can't say the word. I can't. But I don't hate him, anyway. And still scared, but it's more a fear of what's to come than anything else.  
  
I don't even know why I came to this party. Jasmine seems to be having the time of her life without me, Angelina wanted to stay home, and now some guy is making his way over to me. It's Reese, the guy who sang the duet with me in chorus last fall. Hey, Phoebe.  
  
I reply, focusing on the dancers. Before last year, before I knew that Stephen was interested in me, I would have been more than happy to look at Reese, to talk to him, to have him pay attention to me. Now I don't want to talk to anyone. I'd rather stay here and wallow in self-pity, thank you very much.  
  
Want to dance?  
  
I shake my head.  
  
Is something wrong? he asks.  
  
He's a nice guy. I know that. Any girl in school would be dying to be in my position, or at least they think they would. But I'm not ready. Not yet.  
  
While I'm trying to figure out a way to say this, he takes my silence for a reply. Do you want to talk about it?  
  
I shrug.  
  
Well, if something is wrong, you could at least tell me. Now he's beginning to sound irritated. What do I look like, a mind reader?  
  
Before I can stop myself, I've bolted from the chair and toward the staircase. I hide in one of the bedrooms, telling myself how ridiculous I'm being. It's not like I would be cheating on Stephen, or anything. It's more like I've been hoping, in some deepest part of my heart, that we'll be together again someday. Or like I feel like anyone else I got involved with would be just for the sake of proving that I could be in a normal human relationship... with a normal human.  
  
When I go back downstairs, Reese is gone. Thank God for small favors. I find my way to the door and take off through the warm, cricket-filled night, making a mental note to wash the smoke-smell out of my clothes. Next on the agenda is to take the picture of me and Stephen out of the drawer and... do what? Tear it up, maybe, leave nothing behind, just like I want to forget that he ever existed sometimes. And I wish to God I could say that was impossible.  
  
You don't even know how much I wish it.  



	2. Stephen

Chapter 1: Stephen

My mind was on its vacation schedule, where the day begins at noon and lasts as long as one damn pleases. In my case, it was almost noon when I opened my eyes to the sight of my best friend since fifth grade, who was sitting in a corner, leafing through a pile of books. "Ahem," I croaked.

"Oh, morning." He held up a copy of _The Amber Spyglass._ "I liked the first two, but everyone says this one is bad. A real letdown. What do you think?"

I shook my head, acutely aware that I was wearing nothing but a nightshirt with a picture of Garfield on the front, and that the condition of my hair left a lot to be desired. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here?"

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have woken you up." Awkward silence. I mean, here I was, barely awake, and the fact that I had known Stephen for years didn't change the fact that he was in here without express permission. I didn't know whether to scream, pinch myself to wake up, or burst into giggles at the sight of his T-shirt, which declared, _I can't have a crisis today, my schedule is full. _"Let's start over," he said at last. "Welcome back to the land of the living. I've been enlisted to move some boxes back up to the attic. want to help?"

"Yeah." I came a little more awake, at least awake enough to wonder why Mom had never mentioned that the new love of her life had any kids. "Stephen, I want you to do something for me."

"Sure. What?"

"Wait here patiently while I shower and get dressed, okay?" He nodded. "And while you wait, get down on your knees and thank all the gods and their mothers-in-law that I didn't decide to pitch you out the window." I don't rehearse everything I say, but I'd been waiting to use that particular line, and it came out just right.

When I returned twenty minutes later, he was still sifting through the books. "So, is it good?"

"Is what good?"

"That Amber Spyglass book."

"No, it sucks. It's full of religious stuff. And if you ever think you might want to do something like this again, please remember what I said about the window."

The thermometer claimed that it was two degrees cooler than it had been yesterday, but you couldn't prove it by me. My shirt was sticking to my back, and I was sure I smelled. "What do you have in this thing?" I grunted, hefting a box. "Rocks?"

Stephen looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Actually, yeah."

I peeked inside. Sure enough, it was filled with rocks.

"It's my dad's collection," he said defensively. "What do I look like, some kind of freak?"

I studied him and shook my head. "I don't get it," I said, indicating his shirt.

"Neither do I. I just thought it sounded cool."

Boys. "You don't look like a freak to me," I said. "Some other people on Oak Street, though, that's another story."

"Right. Wacky but lovable neighbors like Delia Foxworth." He was referring to a tabloid reporter who lives a couple of houses down from him. She doesn't talk to anyone -- except Angelina, sometimes -- and every week she invites all these people to her house and draws the shades.

"People are saying that she's a mutant," I informed him.

"Oh, yeah? And do you believe them?"

"She doesn't look it."

He set his box down just long enough to jab my arm. "How would you know? Have you ever seen a mutant?"

"They're like ghosts or UFOs. You don't have to see to believe."

My sister, meanwhile, had climbed over the fence to join us. "Whatcha talking about?"

"Ms. Foxworth."

"You know what people are saying about her, right?"

"They say that about everyone, though."

"Give us a hand with these boxes," I instructed Angelina.

She did, and soon all eleven crates of glorified junk were safely stored in the attic, out of sight, out of mind. The Spencer clan now had plenty of room to fill their house with new odds and ends. I crossed my fingers, hoping that they'd stay here long enough to do that. They had lived in six different places before finally moving here.

"Whew, now there's workout," Angelina sighed. "What'd he have in there, rocks?"

Stephen and I looked at each other, then burst out laughing.


	3. Flattery

A/N: Hey, guys, are you even reading this? If you don't like it, tell me, please? Pretty please?  
  
Disclaimer: The song doesn't belong to me. It's from _Anastasia_, but I just thought that it fit.  
  
Chapter 2: Flattery  
  
Ms. Rivers was all over me from the first day of school. Most of the kids who take chorus use the time to goof off, which irritates her no end. She pulled me back as I left the music room. Are you going to try out for Northern Regionals this year? she demanded, practically frothing at the mouth   
  
I guess, I replied, put off as usual by her enthusiasm.  
  
And I want you to look at one of the solos for At the Beginning,' she continued. If you're interested, that is. I'm trying to get Haley Swanson for the second verse, and Reese for the boy's part. She was referring to the guy I mentioned before -- Reese Levine, the suffering-artist type with spiky hair and a voice like the melted peanut butter cup of his name. I was interested, all right.   
  
And I could tell that he was, too. When he sidled into the music room after the final bell one day during the third week of school, he bobbed his head at me like one of those bird-heads on springs. What's up?  
  
Not much, I replied, trying not to giggle. _God, Phoebe, you're getting as bad as Karen Henning and Cindy Stepford._ I could picture Angelina rolling her eyes in disgust.  
  
I heard you last year. You sounded really good.  
  
You're not bad yourself. A little better.  
  
Flattery will get you nowhere. He flipped his sunglasses down and gave a melted-peanut-butter-cup grin.  
  
Okay, romance time's over! Ms. Rivers called, jangling her bracelets. We looked guiltily at each other, then at her. Let's take it from the top. Phoebe's part. Here's your note.  
  
**   
  
Our school vetoed Christmas concerts after Ms. Rivers' predecessor went overboard with the super-religious songs. Instead, we have two performances, one near Halloween and one in the spring. Each is a big event, not like in middle school when even the teacher cared more about the band than the chorus because they paid for their instruments. They used to outfit us in dusty old choir robes. Now we wear tuxedo shirts and sparkly black vests that make us look like penguins. Better, but not much.  
  
Anyway, I actually believe all that stuff about how we sound being much more important than how we look. I used to drive my parents and Angelina nuts because I sang more than I spoke, but all that practice apparently paid off. I'm not saying that I'm Sarah McLachlan quite yet, or even Britney Spears (God forbid), but people say that my voice has Potential. I'm not quite sure that I want to believe them -- besides, I could never sing professionally.  
  
I was glad that it was Reese I was singing with. Thinking about him distracted me from the fact that it would be in front of everyone. When the whole chorus is in unison and one of us messes up, it can be easily ignored. When it's just one little voice in that great big room, and I mess up, the whole auditorium hears it.  
  
Isobel sat with me in the cafeteria before the concert, listening as I listed all the things that could possibly go wrong. Then she had told me to chill, that I would be fine, and if worse came to worse, I could always say that I had messed up on purpose. The audience would be none the wiser. I said that I was praying for aliens or mutants or someone to attack. She told me never to joke about that, ever.  
  
Reese could actually make the penguin outfit look good. I think that devilishly handsome is the technical term. I played our teacher's instructions over and over in my head. _Look at each other. Ignore them. You're singing this song to each other, promising your undying love._ Sheesh. If I did mess up, he would notice, too. Some distraction.  
  
I snapped out of it just in time to hear Ms. Rivers play the opening notes. I took a deep breath.  
  
_We were strangers, starting out on a journey  
Never dreaming what we'd have to go through  
Now here we are, and I'm suddenly standing  
At the beginning with you._  
  
Although I was facing Reese, my eyes suddenly travelled toward the balcony, where Mom, Andrew, Angelina, and the Spencers were seated in the very front row. I could see Stephen's face clearly. Our eyes locked for a moment as I finished my segment, and I wished that I hadn't inherited my mother's almost perfect vision. I could see all too well how tired he looked.  
  
Reese, meanwhile, had begun to sing in that sock-knockingly gorgeous voice of his. And his eyes (a very interesting shade of bluish-gray) were fixed on my face.  
  
_We were strangers, on a crazy adventure  
Never dreaming how our dreams would come true  
Now here we stand, unafraid of the future  
At the beginning with you._  
  
I was glad when the rest of the chorus joined in. I had done my part, and, wonder of wonders, I hadn't messed up.  
  
_And life is a road and I want to keep going  
Love is a river, I want to keep flowing  
Life is a road, now and forever  
Wonderful journey...  
I'll be there when the world stops turning  
I'll be there when the storm is through  
At the end, I want to be standing  
At the beginning with you._  
  
**  
  
You sounded great, Phoebe! Stephen exclaimed, hugging me. I feel like I should be waiting with flowers or something.   
  
Violet cooed from behind him.  
  
I thought I sounded squeaky. I was sweating from the bright overhead stage lights, had to go to the bathroom desperately, and was dead tired. All I wanted to do was go home, change out of my stiff pants and stiffer shirt, and sleep. But alas, that was not to be. I overheard Joanne inviting Stephen's mom to bring the family back to our house for a late dinner, and groaned inwardly.  
  
At home, I had to put up with more fawning from all present. Andrew tried to sway the conversation away from me and toward Citizens for Improved Morale, the censorship group that he was currently leading. Joanne glared at me the whole time (when I cited the CIM as part of a school project on the threat of censorship, she threatened me with grounding, extra chores, and disembowelment, but it had been worth it to see the look on Andrew's face). Andrew didn't try to suck up to me about my performance. In that respect, at least, he was different from Bob the Poetic Guy, and I was glad. Check that -- it was pretty much all I cared about. And he wasn't a religious fanatic, like Julian. He didn't go around talking about sinners and saviors.   
  
Charity Spencer even asked if anything was going on between Reese and me. I saw Stephen tense when she said that, but otherwise, he sat slumped in his chair, arms folded, glaring at nobody in particular.  
  
He was jealous. You didn't need to be a genius to figure that out. But behind the rage and jealousy, and above the dark circles, his eyes betrayed other emotions. Fatigue -- I had never seen him tired before. And (could it be, or was my own exhaustion playing tricks on me?) fear.   
  
I need to get away from them, he muttered to me at one point. Want to go for a walk?  
  
I glanced back at Angelina, who mouthed _Go for it._ I stuck my tongue at her, but then said,   
  
We live on a quiet side street, and our house is separated from the others by hedges that haven't been trimmed since the bicentennial. Joanne is desperately afraid that the neighbors are spying on her constantly. My mother may be sane about most things, but her negative qualities definitely include horrible taste in men and paranoia to rival Isobel's.  
  
I think Stephen knows my block better than I do. Almost every day for the past five summers, I've seen him riding his bike up Oak Street to invite Angelina and me (and, more recently, just me) to the lake or to play Frisbee.  
  
Do you believe in aliens? he asked me after we had rounded the corner.  
  
I shrugged. I don't think that we're the only intelligent beings in the universe, but I don't really think that there's anything out there that we have to worry about.  
  
No, I mean do you believe in aliens right here on this planet? Ones that look like you and me, but have to hide who they are because the government might get them?  
  
I gave him a Look. What's getting you this time? Isobel? Angelina's tabloids? A few too many episodes of _Roswell_?  
  
I don't watch _Roswell_. You know that.  
  
Neither did I, actually. Shows like that are against my faith. I guess that's possible, too.  
  
What do you think it would be like for them?   
  
The aliens.  
  
  
  
Not easy, I guess.   
  
They'd probably be scared a lot of the time.  
  
And lonely, I suggested.   
  
Imagine if you thought you were the only person like you in the world.  
  
Well, everyone kind of is, I pointed out.  
  
You know what I mean. If you could do things that other people couldn't, maybe, and knew that you would never be like everyone else no matter how hard you tried? And you knew that the place you really belonged was light-years away?  
  
What kinds of things?  
  
he said.  
  
You said If you could to things that other people couldn't.' What kinds of things? Like flying, or reading minds, or turning into a duck-billed platypus?   
  
I expected him to smile at this, but he didn't. Stuff like that, yeah, I guess. Superman was from another planet, but I don't think I'd look too good in Spandex.  
  
Well, that's the first step! I joked.  
  
He still didn't smile. But what else is there?  
  
You're asking this like it's a decision you're actually going to make. Now I was getting worried. You're not an alien. No green skin. No flippers. I hesitated, then reached up and raked my fingers through his frizzy hair. No antennae. You're as human as the rest of us, and you belong on earth. With the rest of us. I knew, of course, that this was just another way for him to deal with being picked on from the first day I knew him, for not being particularly smart or athletic or much of a People Person, but I didn't say it for a variety of reasons. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, for one thing. And he wasn't really the one that I was trying to convince at all.  
  
**  
  
_When I saw her with that guy tonight, something in me stretched tight enough to snap. She deserves to be with someone like him, not someone like me who feels like he's losing his grip on reality a little more every day. And it might not just be a question of sanity anymore, either.  
  
When she came out of the auditorium, I could hear him say how much he wanted her. That was bad enough -- she's been practically flirting with me all this time, and I actually thought that I had a chance -- but it took me only a second that to realize that he hadn't spoken at all. To Phoebe... or to anyone else.  
  
And I could hear her too: What about Stephen? What do I tell him? I'm not sure what I thought about that...  
  
Oh, screw it! If what I think is going on is actually going on, then competition is the least of my problems.  
  
The scariest question is no longer, What if I'm going crazy?  
  
It's, What if I'm not?  
  
I have to tell someone.  
  
Or I actually _will_ lose it._  
  
  
  



	4. Xavier

Chapter 3: Xavier  
  
They say that your best and worst memories stay with you forever, and if anybody asks, you can call them up and recount every detail, every word spoken, every emotion. That's what they say, and they're right.  
  
I remember the leaf piles outside Mr. Freed's door. He's the last person I ever expected to be raking his yard; after all, he will tell anyone who will listen that he once encountered the devil while working the night shift at a shoe factory in the city. I remember how the sky looked, a bright, hectic blue, and the smell of wood smoke. I remember what I was wearing -- embroidered jeans and a black hooded sweater. I had pasted a couple those stick-on rhinestones at the corner of each eye. I had plans to meet Jasmine and Kevin downtown, and I was heading over to Stephen's house to see if he wanted to come too.  
  
Violet answered the door. We got company right now, Phoebe.  
  
Can I still come in?  
  
She shrugged.   
  
Darren, Charity, and Stephen were sitting in the living room, looking like they had been listening very intently to what the unfamiliar bald guy in the wheelchair had to say. Charity was the first to speak. Professor, this is Phoebe, a friend of Stephen's. She turned to me. Professor Xavier runs a school, of sorts, for the gifted. Ms. Munroe -- here she indicated a tall, regal-looking woman with long white hair -- is one of his associates. They've heard that Stephen has excellent potential.  
  
He does? I looked at Stephen critically. His hair was a mess, he was wearing a T-shirt that said I DON'T BELONG here, and his socks didn't match. He was smarter than most of the lowlifes at school, that was for sure. But ? No offense to him, but I just couldn't see it.  
  
Appearances can be deceiving, my child, Xavier said as if he had read my thoughts.  
  
So where is this school of yours? I asked, hoping that I sounded casual. Nobody had ever called me my child before. It wasn't a nice feeling.  
  
Not far.  
  
And you think he has such potential... why?  
  
Phoebe, maybe you should go, Darren began.  
  
If she is close to him --  
  
She is, Violet said with a smirk. She's in fourth grade, usually very sweet. But right now, I wanted to squish her.  
  
-- then she needs to hear this, too. Xavier gave me a penetrating stare that reminded me, uncomfortably, of the way Bob used to look at me. I shivered, hoping that it wouldn't have the same results.   
  
What happened instead was somehow worse -- with that stare came the oddest sensation. I know this sounds like a bad science fiction novel (which was, at that point, what my life basically became) but it felt like someone was poking around in my mind.  
  
Do I sound crazy yet? No? Maybe you've had a similar experience.  
  
I bet not, though.  
  
Well, well, well, said a voice in my head. What have we here? A pause. The feeling of fingers extending into my brain, shuffling through my thoughts like I was some sort of human card catalogue. Not painful, but weird beyond belief. I bit back a gasp. Your fears are quite groundless, Phoebe. I could compel you to think that this was what was best, but I'd rather you realize it of your own free will.  
  
It was all I could do to keep from screaming out loud. What I did do was stand up, stare directly back at Xavier, and sputter, You... you just... you're...  
  
Calm yourself, my child. I didn't mean to startle you.  
  
I still -- Violet began.  
  
Don't understand? Our mysterious visitor looked amused. I'm not surprised. In most cases, it's difficult for people like yourselves to understand mutants.  
  
I asked like an idiot.   
  
Here, among you, Xavier said simply. Ms. Munroe can control the weather. I myself am able to read minds and to manipulate other people's thoughts.  
  
I muttered, although I was thinking maybe the most frightening thing I've ever heard in my life was more accurate.  
  
And Stephen, as it happens, has similar talents.  
  
I think I was the first one, though by no means the only one, to say, All eyes turned to the extremely panicked boy in question, who looked like he fervently wished to be somewhere else. Our conversation from the other night had just come rushing back to me.  
  
_Like flying, or reading minds, or turning into a duck-billed platypus?  
  
Stuff like that, yeah._  
  
No way, I said. Mutants aren't real. They're just tabloid junk. Like Bigfoot. No freaking way. _Denial,_ a voice whispered, and I looked at Xavier again, but he ignored me. Is it true? I demanded.  
  
Stephen nodded. Yeah. I thought I was going crazy at first. It's really not that?  
  
Not at all, Xavier said with a smile that made me want to kick him. But your gift needs to be controlled. Otherwise, you'll be picking up people's thoughts at random. It will not be pleasant. And I speak from experience.  
  
Isn't there any way to make him normal again? Violet asked.  
  
No. And even if there was, these things can be viewed as blessings.  
  
_This has to be a joke. It can't be real._  
  
Darren started asking more questions, about the way this school worked, how much it would cost. Charity had gone very pale and silent, and I had the idea that Joanne would know what was going down before the day was out. Why I should even care was beyond me.  
  
_It's a joke. It's a dream. It can't be real._  
  
_It's too weird for you,_ the voice continued. Once I would have pegged it as my own subconscious. Now I wasn't so sure. _ You don't understand it, so you don't want to accept it. How typically human of you!  
_  
But you are human, Stephen said suddenly. Phoebe, it's okay to think that.  
  
This time, I didn't try to hold back the strangled cry that escaped my lips.  
  
He's right. Xavier smiled again. Hopefully, though, if you care about your friend as much as you seem to, you'll see the truth eventually.   
  
I wanted to run out the door into the blue-and-gold autumn afternoon. I wanted to scream that even if it were true, there was no way I was letting him disappear like this. I wanted to say that I didn't trust Xavier as far as I could throw him. But I didn't seem to have any choice in the matter. So I didn't say anything at all.   



	5. Twilight

Chapter 4: Twilight

"It started last night," he said.

We were sitting out on the dock that stretched over the lake. Just a week ago, he had tried to impress me by doing a midair somersault that turned into a world-class bellyflop. Kevin had dunked Jasmine a record number of times, and she had squealed in protest. The girl who had led our class to victory in the regional debates two years running had actually _squealed_. Kevin was so damn good for her.

Why was I thinking about that now?

He was still talking. "There was this girl I like, and I saw her with another guy and got really jealous."

"Who is she?" Like that really mattered, either.

"You don't know her. Anyway, yeah, I wondered what he had that I didn't." He laughed. There was no humor in it. "I guess I know, now. Anyway, something just snapped. And all of a sudden..."

"All of a sudden..." I prompted. I would be supportive, I told myself. I would not run.

"All of a sudden I could hear voices coming from all around me. It was like someone had turned on a radio that got all the stations at once. I didn't want to believe that they were other people's thoughts at first. I'd rather have been crazy than be..." He trailed off.

I didn't want to say it, either. The word applied to something strange and different, something that didn't belong in its own world. Not to my best friend, who had told me the first day we met that he went by his middle name because he hated his first name more than math homework, who always, without fail, wore those ridiculous T-shirts, who had played Frisbee with us at the park and listened when I confided that I was sure my mother's boyfriend was hitting on me. It was screamed from the front pages of tabloids and discussed on the news as a distinct possibility, not repeated in polite conversation, not in Wallglass, not among people like us.

"People like you, now." He sounded bitter.

"Would you stop?"

"I can't."

"You're still the same person you always were," I told him. "You know that. Your parents don't sound too shaken up."

"I wasn't worried about telling them. I was scared to tell the others, a little bit, because Isobel used to think that everyone around her could read her mind. Remember?" I did. "But most of all, I was scared to tell you."

"How come?" I asked, curious.

"Because I could sort of predict how everyone else was going to react. You're just a big question mark. And you're trying to be brave." He gave a humorless grin. "Thanks."

He was so calm about this. It creeped me out just as much as anything Xavier had said or done.

"Yeah, he's freaky," Stephen agreed. "But I think he means well."

"I said, stop!"

"Sorry. That's what I'm talking about -- I can't turn it off." He took a deep breath. "It doesn't sound all that bad... that place he mentioned. I mean, he said that we'd be going to regular high school, so it isn't like we'd be totally cut off from the rest of the world. And now that I know that there are other people like me..." He saw the look on my face and trailed off. "I guess I can't fool you, huh?"

I shook my head.

"It's just that it's all happening so fast." His voice had been eerily placid before, but now it was starting to shake a little. "I don't want to be a mutant."

"Nobody _wants_ to be a mutant," I assured him, not really knowing what else to say.

"What would you do? If you had to choose, would you go or stay?"

That, I couldn't answer. "Are you coming to school on Monday?" I asked instead.

"I don't know yet."

"And what are we going to tell Isobel?"

"I don't think we should."

For the second time that day, I responded with, "What?"

"She's pretty, um, unstable about this whole thing. I don't think she'd take it well."

"I took it fine," I said a little defensively.

"Liar." The stars were starting to come out. Faintly, I could see him raise his face to look at them. "Remember what I said about the aliens?"

"Sure."

"I almost wish I was one. Then I'd know that there was somewhere that I belonged."

"Well, there is," I told him. "On earth."

"With the rest of you," Stephen agreed.

Now I could see the lights come on across the lake. A chill autumn wind lifted my hair. Tentatively, not wanting to believe that I was hesitant because I was suddenly afraid of getting too close, I put one arm around him. "It's going to be okay," I whispered. "We'll think of something. Or somebody will. It's going to be fine."

**

Andrew actually had the nerve to ask me what was wrong when I slammed into the house. I almost told him where to go. I really did, He was, however, the very last thing I wanted to deal with right now. I pushed past him and stomped up the stairs.

Angelina's head poked out of her door. "Are you okay?" she asked me.

I could have coped with Andrew's bewilderment and the inconvenient questions that Joanne was bound to ask. When my twin looked at me with such genuine concern, though, I found I couldn't speak.

She ushered me into her room, which was a mess as usual. A laundry basket full of clothes stood in the center of the floor, surrounded by papers, pencils, and horror novels. Music blasted from the stereo. It was an island of normalcy in the surreal twilight landscape that my life had become in just a few short hours.

She held me at arm's length, so I was staring into a face that was so much like mine, but so different, too, sharper, stronger somehow. But concerned, able to read me in a way that neither Stephen nor Xavier ever would. "Tell me what's wrong," she urged, as Reese would almost a year later. "Come on, Phoebe, please? I mean, you look like you just lost your best friend."

I hadn't cried when I had first heard the news. I hadn't cried at the lake, when I realized that of course he should go to that place Xavier had talked about, of course it would be the best thing. I cried now, hating myself for it, hating myself for just pretending to be brave. I had never been one to make waves or to speak my mind, and everyone knew it. Who was I trying to fool, anyway?


	6. Truth

Chapter 5: Truth

Stephen kept to himself on Monday, not so much as looking up at me when I saw him in the halls. I had an idea that he was trying to filter out the voices in his head as he tried to pay attention to the ones that were being spoken out loud. I didn't want to make things worse for him, and I tried not to let the day fade into a fog.

Since I had broken down in front of Angelina, I had cried on and off all weekend out of fear and helplessness. She had stayed with me through most of it, although I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. The Serious Talk that my mother had hinted at never actually took place.

I was achieving a fair amount of success at not thinking about it, concentrating on classes and last-period rehearsal. Afterward, I knew I would have to race to catch up with the bus.

I was doing so when someone shouted my name. It was Stephen, of course, racing toward me. I blinked -- maybe Andrew was rubbing off on me -- not quite sure that I was seeing what I was seeing. His shirt, which read _In Some Cultures, What I Do Is Considered Normal_, was ripped off one shoulder. There was a lavender circle around one eye, darkening to black. "What happened?" I managed.

"Jeff happened," he replied, expressionless.

Jeff Price, who fills the "class bully" role like nobody's business, has had it in for Stephen since the beginning of ninth grade. Nobody knows why, but the most popular theory is that Jeff sees himself as the shepherd of some sort of insane high-school Darwinism: the ones who can't adapt will die out. And Stephen's never been that good at adapting. "What was it this time?"

"He'd heard a rumor that I was moving in on Karen," he told me as we walked outside. When we got there, the bus was just pulling away. He swore, using words I didn't even know he knew. "If we start walking, we'll probably make it back before dark."

So we walked. "Keep talking," I said. I didn't think I would be able to stand the silence. "Karen isn't the girl you were interested in, is she?" Somehow, I thought not -- she's not his type Still, boys were weird sometimes.

"No," he said quickly. "Anyway, I said, 'Leave me alone or I'll tell Karen all about you and Cindy.'"

Everyone knows that Jeff cheats on his girlfriend. I reminded Stephen of this.

"Well, I didn't know it until..."

"Until you read his mind." It hurt to say it.

"Yup." The frightening calmness was back again. "And that's not all, either."

Why did I have the strangest feeling that I didn't want to hear what was coming next? "Go on."

"Pat Fishmelt" (that's really his name, I kid you not) "shoved me against the locker while Jeff hit me in the face." He indicated the black eye. "They ripped my shirt, too."

"So I see."

"All I wanted was for them to stop."

"Yeah?"

"So they did."

"What?" I said dumbly, figuring that I must have missed something.

"I'm so serious. I opened my eyes and the two of them were frozen. Like statues."

I took a step back, and regretted it. He looked shaken up already, and what I'd just done wasn't going to help. "So what'd you do then?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice under control.

"I ran. When I looked back, they were gone. That's when I saw you. I guess I should be glad that they didn't start chasing me again."

"Oh, my God," I whispered.

"Pretty much. If they're not okay..."

"They were pulverizing you!" I protested, utterly confused. "Why do you care?"

"I did this to them because I was angry," he explained. "Sure, this time it was just a bunch of jerks who were beating me up, but what if it's someone else next time? My parents? Isobel? You? I mean, Professor Xavier didn't say I could do anything like this."

"Oh, didn't, did he?" I said acidly.

"You don't like him, do you?"

"I didn't say that!" 

"You didn't have to," he shot back, then sighed. "Okay, I didn't mean to, any more than I meant to do... what I did back there. That's why I'm thinking of going away to that school he talked about."

I stopped in my tracks. "What?" It suddenly seemed like the only word I knew.

"It's not like I have any choice in the matter."

"Yes, you do!" I said. "You don't even look like a mutant."

"But I am one, and there's nothing I can do to change that. This is my one chance at being normal."

"How is following Professor Savior to some freak school going to make you normal?" I demanded, then covered my mouth with both my hands. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know."

He walked me back to my house in silence. "What are you going to tell your parents?" I asked at length.

"They seem pretty okay with this. I'm lucky to have them."

I stopped and faced him. "If you really think that this is what will work, then go. It's all you."

"You don't really want that."

I charged into the house, up the stairs, and into my room. Not for the first time, I wished that I had Angelina's strength. She loved bizarre things. She'd beat up anyone who went after Stephen, or call them something so nasty that they'd cower in fear. She has the guts to deal with anything. I never have.

I was helpless.

My common sense, which nobody will say is lacking, was telling me to just let him go. School would be a living hell if he stayed, and I certainly didn't want him reading my mind all the time. It was the most sensible decision; I didn't deny it. But there was one problem: I hadn't been lying when I had said that I didn't like Xavier one bit. And I would be lying if I said I knew why.

If I wasn't able to convince myself that things would get better, it wasn't for lack of trying.


	7. Nightmares

Chapter 6: Nightmares  
  
Ever since I was little, I've had this recurring dream that's terrified me. There's no telling when it will come, or how often, or how long it will last. I'm not even sure you can really call it a dream; it's more like a state of being. I'll be lying in my bed, the darkness will be behind my eyelids, and suddenly I won't be able to move. Or cry out. Or anything. I know that if I can just lift one arm, one finger, or open my eyes, I'll be able to break free soon, but part of me just wants to stay there, part of me knows that fighting is not only draining, but useless as well.  
  
Anyway, I was having that dream pretty much every night right after Stephen left. It may not sound like much to you, but believe me, it's awful. And to make matters worse, there was now a voice speaking to me while I lay there helpless. Don't ask me how I knew who it belonged to even if I'd only met that person once. You always know in dreams, don't you?  
  
Nothing will harm you here, the voice all but crooned. Your friend is perfectly safe, Phoebe. And so are you. But you haven't seen the light yet, have you?  
  
_Leave me alone!_  
  
Pity. It would have made things so much easier for both of us... and for Stephen. Perhaps you do need an attitude adjustment after all.  
  
_Then why didn't you...  
_  
I told you, I hoped you would be able to deal with it. If you hadn't, I would have been forced to take further action.  
  
_Like what?  
_  
That's when I woke up, not screaming or gasping, just opened my eyes to a darkness that was just as absolute but very real.  
  
It was just a dream. It wasn't like I didn't have just cause for nightmares, was it?  
  
I slid open my window, hoping that the noise wouldn't wake anyone else in the house. My window squeaked in protest whenever anyone tried to open it. I grabbed my quilt, swung one leg over the side, and swung out onto the porch roof. It was freezing, but I sat there anyway, with the blanket wrapped tight around me, like I used to do when I was little. I buried my face in the knees of my sweatpants, in the small cavern of warmth that I'd created. Then I raised my face and took a breath of icy air. Inside had been suffocating.  
  
We had said goodbye outside my house. And I remembered everything. The flat gray of the sky, like it was crying for me. Stupid, I know. The dew on the grass. The soft fabric of his sweatshirt against my cheek. He wasn't smiling his perpetual smile. I knew he was just as scared as I was, probably more so. I wanted to be there for him, but I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what to think. And whatever I said to support him wouldn't be good enough, because I'd wanted him to stay so badly that it hurt more than my eyes hurt from trying not to cry. That was exactly what he didn't need.  
  
What he also didn't need -- what none of them needed -- was for me to tell anyone about this. Somehow, I knew I could keep myself from doing that. I've always felt a need to tell people how I felt or what was going on, like I needed their confirmation, like if I was the only one who knew about it, it wasn't real.  
  
I really am pathetic, aren't I? I hate that about myself.   
  
But this was real. I didn't need anyone else to prove that to me. And what was I supposed to do, huh? I still don't know what the right decision was. Would trying to stay in touch with him make it seem like I couldn't survive without him? Would trying to survive make it seem like I didn't care? Should I -- maybe -- stop worrying about what it might seem like and start worrying about how it would feel?  
  
Strength was essential. I knew that. Charity and Darren were being strong, poor Violet was doing her best, and I knew I had to do the same. No decision about what to do next could be made if I fell apart. But was it too late?  
  
The lights were out all over town. Nobody was up to see me.   
  
I crawled back through my window. The nightmare didn't return, but despite my resolution to get in touch with Stephen as soon as possible, the emptiness that had started the day he had left was back full-force. I knew it wouldn't go away anytime soon.  
  



	8. Awkward

Chapter 7: Awkward

"Xavier Institute. Uh, how can I help you?" came a young, hesitant male voice.

"Hi," I said nervously. "Um, can I talk to Stephen Spencer?"

"Just a minute," said the voice. A hand tried unsuccessfully to cover the receiver. "Dude, some girl wants to talk to Stephen!"

Giggles on the other end. A muffled shout. Then an irate, "Hello?"

"Hey." I put on the cheerful voice I'd been practicing, hoping he'd be fooled. "It's me, 'some girl'."

"Phoebe?" He sounded like he could barely believe it. Surprised, angry, or whatever, it was so good to hear his voice that I almost cried.

"It's me," I replied.

"I didn't think you'd call."

"Well, you were wrong," I told him. To prevent an awkward silence, I suggested, "Tell me everything."

Too late -- it was almost a minute before he answered. "Um, the kid who answered the phone was my friend Jamie. He's a lot younger, but we get along pretty well when I can figure out which one of him I'm talking to."

I thought I must have misheard. "What?"

"What what?" he shot back right on cue, a reply that went back to our earliest days together. Some things never change.

"Did you say, 'which one of him I'm talking to'?"

"That's his power," he explained patiently. "He can create multiples of himself."

"Oh." Talking to Stephen again had had me practically walking on air. Now I was brought back down to earth as I remembered why exactly we were apart. "So all the people there are..."

"Mutants. Yup." He rattled off a list of names and super powers. "The other telepath is named Jean. She's the most popular girl in school. Like Karen."

"Only without the evil?"

He lowered his voice. "I wouldn't say _that_."

I laughed so loudly that I was sure Andrew could hear me from the other room, where he was proofreading an insurance form. I closed the door a little more tightly. This was one conversation I did not want him snooping on. "And they're teaching you to control... what you can do?"

"Something like that. Do Jeff and the others know anything went wrong?"

"They're acting even meaner than usual, but that happens. I haven't told anyone else yet." I twirled around slowly until the phone cord was wrapped around my waist.

"Define 'anyone else.'"

"Isobel. She's been wondering where you were."

"I guess that would be okay," he said, even though he didn't seem to happy about it. "As long as she was the only one." An even longer pause. "Are you okay, Phoebe? I've talked to my parents, and they're fine, but this is the first time I've heard from you."

"I'm fine."

"Really." He sounded skeptical.

Note to self: never try to lie to someone who can read your mind, and has known you for years to boot. "I've been better. I was just worried that..." I changed the subject before he could ask me to finish my sentence. "Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?"

"I don't know. I'd like to, but I've only been here a few weeks, and the professor thinks it would be a good idea if I got a little more adjusted first." At the words "the professor thinks" I felt like someone had pulled a drawstring across my stomach. Before I could speak again, a babble of voices arose in the background. I caught what sounded like "danger room," whatever that might be. I could hear Stephen telling the speaker, "I'll be right there." Then, to me, "Listen, Phoebe, I gotta go. I'm really glad you called. Tell me again how much you miss me."

"I miss you so much," I said truthfully.

"Tell me that it doesn't matter."

It took me a minute to get what he meant by that. "It doesn't matter," I assured him. "Hang in there."

"You, too." 

After I had hung up, I stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing. I was glad that he'd given me permission to tell Isobel. She were among my best friends, and his, too, and she had a right to know. I was sure that she wouldn't go on one of her conspiracy rampages like she had done last year.

Was I glad to hear how happy he was there? Of course. The scared and confused kid I had comforted that night by the lake, and again the day we'd missed the bus, was gone without a trace, and I would not miss him. The person who had taken his place seemed to be the same guy I'd always known, just a hair short of so happy that I was forced to wonder if I was good enough for him anymore. Talking to him was like putting on a favorite shirt that you'd stored in the back of your dresser for months. Speaking of which, I had to wonder which of his T-shirts he was wearing that day.

Still, there was something... something I couldn't quite put my finger on, any more than I could have told Angelina why I was really scared. Just as he had always been able to read me even before we'd learned that he was a mutant (I could think of him that way just fine, but forget about saying it out loud), I had always had a fairly good idea of what he wasn't saying... which, in this case, sounded like a lot. Take the hesitant pauses on either side of "something like that," how he hadn't gone into detail, and how he'd changed the subject so quickly.

_Because he knows that this whole thing makes me uncomfortable, _I told myself firmly._ That's why he didn't say anything else. That's all. Besides, I held a lot back for the same reason._

_Because you didn't want to make him feel guilty, _my subconscious spoke up. It was the same voice had that told me that my fear was typically human._ That's a perfectly good reason. What reason does he have for keeping things from you?_

_I don't know that! God, what could be going on there that he doesn't want me to know about? I'm his best friend!_

_Ask yourself if you really want to know the answers to those questions._

_Forget it. I keep this up and I'm going to sound as crazy and paranoid as Isobel._

_Maybe you are crazy. You are talking to yourself, after all._

This was true. I had caught myself just in time. Was insanity so far-fetched, though? Or was it to be expected? Was he keeping things from me? And if so, what? And why?


	9. Cold

Chapter 8: Cold

The first snowflakes started to fall just after Thanksgiving, and only a few days after we were back in school, the sky dumped five inches on us. Never had I been so glad for a snow day in my entire life. Telling Angelina everything had been easier than I thought — once she'd made it clear that she wouldn't leave me alone until she found out what was wrong. She'd been a little freaked out at first, but I had made it clear that he had left so what had happened with Jeff wouldn't happen again. Not that I mentioned what had happened with Jeff.

So I was praying for a less-than-violent reaction, and my prayers were answered, at least as far as I could see.

I dressed in my typical snow-day clothes, complete with fuzzy socks, and was just making some toast when the phone rang. I snatched it up. "Hello?"

"Hey," a guy's voice said. It wasn't Stephen, and for a moment I couldn't place it. "Phoebe? Is that you?" he continued.

Then I got it. "Hey, Reese."

"Check out that snow, huh?"

I looked out the window. It was still falling. "It's beautiful."

"A bunch of us are going up to Cobalt Hill later to do some sledding. Want to come?"

If ever a distraction was needed, it was now. "Sure. I love sledding when it's still snowing out."

"Me, too," he said. "You know, you seemed kind of down lately. I figured you needed something to make you smile. You should do that more often."

"Thanks." We made plans on when to meet, then hung up.

It wasn't like I'd given Reese a single thought since the concert. He was still as cute as ever, and nice, too. We -- the hypothetical _we_ -- had rated a bathroom gossip session, overheard by Jamie while she was holed up in a stall. The tenth-graders were hissing and clucking to each other about why didn't I just go for it, what was holding me back. If only I could have told them.

_Because now you know: nothing. Stephen's happy where he is, his family's more or less okay about what's going on, and so are you, and so's Angelina. It's time to get on with your life. And Reese seems like an excellent place to start. Never mind how Stephen looked when he saw the two of you together, never mind how his quirkiness can't more than matches Reese's hopeless-romantic schtick. Never mind any of that. It's time to move on._

**

And I did end up having a great time. Reese had invited Jasmine and a couple of guys from the school band, and they had all brought sleds that we took turns using. Cobalt Hill is this gigantic rise of land at the edge of town. They've been talking about building something there for years, but it was never quite agreed what, so it's become a great place to watch fireworks in the summer and a great place for sledding in the winter.

At one point, Reese asked me if I wanted to share the sled half-and-half.

"Sure." I rolled my eyes. "You can have it downhill, and I can have it uphill. Nice try."

"No, really." He sat down in the sled and scooted forward. "Sit behind me."

I obliged, finding myself clinging to the back of his coat.

"Here we go." He pushed off, and we were rocketing down the hill, the snowflake-filled air zooming toward us, blowing in my face, the wind pushing my scarf into my mouth. We coasted smoothly to a stop just before the road began.

"You did it all wrong," I informed him, still holding tight.

"You're kidding, right? I didn't even tip us over."

"You're supposed to tip over," I chastised. "That's what makes it fun."

_We went sledding on this same hill, the four of us, piled onto one sled. Stephen, on the bottom, tried to actually steer, which was a joke, and we tipped over halfway down, and I was still clinging to him the same way I was clinging to Reese now, and we were laughing, and we were only in seventh grade when we could still say that it didn't matter that we were lying there holding onto each other and breathing in each other's faces, we were still too young to even wonder if maybe, maybe not now but someday..._

"Phoebe? You still here?"

"Hmmmm? Yeah, I am." I flopped over onto the snow.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Reese grinned. "Making a snow angel?"

"Sure, why not?" I waved my arms and legs up and down a few times, then managed to rise without screwing it up. I surveyed my work. "What do you think of her?"

"Does she sing like you?"

I knew I was turning red, and it wasn't just from the cold. "Maybe."

"So I was supposed to tip over, huh?"

"Exactly," I said. "We're supposed to fall out into the snow and lie there looking up at the sky."

"And then we're supposed to fight over who has to drag it the rest of the way up."

"You do get it," I said. "And the other kids are supposed to yell at us for ruining their perfect path by leaving footprints. We're supposed to get enough snow inside our jackets and boots to fill the North Pole."

"And then we go inside, and Mom fixes us hot chocolate?" Reese shook his head. "You're crazy, Phoebe."

"I wasn't going to say that," I said defensively as we started making our way up the hill. "My mom hasn't exactly been the hot-chocolate type since my dad left." Charity was, though, and made great cocoa for all four of us. Popcorn, too, sometimes. We would complain that we were already too old to be fussed over, but she would insist. "And I'm not crazy just because I want things to turn out right."

"No," he agreed. "Problem is, they almost never do."

**

I all but floated into the house, but Mom's expression pulled me back out of my daze the second I walked in the door. It was twice as cold as the snow outside. "Don't take your things off, Phoebe," she said, biting off each word in a way that made me cringe when I was little. Come to think of it, it made me cringe now.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I just got off the phone with Charity."

My heart stopped

"I'm not even going to ask why nobody saw fit to tell me. But when she asked me how I knew, I said that I couldn't help overhearing you tell Angelina."

Visions of something horrible (what?) having happened to Stephen were wiped from my mind like it was a dry-erase board. She'd been listening in when Angelina and I were talking. Oh, dear God.

"Charity wants you to march yourself over there _right now_ and explain yourself."

**

So in a way, the tradition is living on now, except this time, it was a desperate and futille attempt to believe that I can move on with my basically normal life. I was with a guy whom I might actually like if he didn't think I was a basket case, and Charity was waiting, all right, but it sure wasn't with cocoa.

She summoned me to her house. This is how the conversation went.

Charity: "How dare you everyone about Stephen's...situation?"

Me: "I didn't tell everyone. I told Angelina. She's my sister. And Joanne's your best friend."

Darren: "There's no need to broadcast his...difference to everyone."

He paused before the word "difference" just like she had paused before the word "situation." Was this how I sounded to others, when I couldn't say what was really going on, not out loud, because I was afraid of what it might mean?

Me: "Haven't you been paying attention? I told _one person_. I didn't think it would slip."

Charity: "Or maybe you didn't think at all. About the consequences, for instance. About what you would have heard if you had been paying attention while Professor Xavier was here: that the rest of the world, friends or not, is suspicious of anything that's just a little different."

Me: "And in his case, for a good reason."

There was a shocked silence.

Charity: "What was that?"

And amazingly, while I couldn't put it into words for Angelina or Isobel or Stephen or even for myself, I could put it into words for his parents, both of whom were now looking at me like I had crawled out from under a rock.

Me: "I didn't like Xavier from the first, okay?"

Darren: "How can you say that?"

Me: "I'm not sure. I didn't know why I didn't like him, maybe I still don't, but --"

Charity: "Phoebe, I'm warning you. If you ever speak against Professor Xavier again --"

Me: "-- but he controls people's minds and I don't trust him."

I said it quietly, but with enough force so the two of them listened, listened to the girl who hadn't spoken up for herself for as long as they had known her.

Darren: "I didn't think it was like you to hate people, but it turns out that you're just like everybody else."

Me: "Hating people and hating Xavier are two completely different concepts!"

That was when Darren told me to _get out now_, which I was more than happy to do. Just that morning, I thought that things could finally be normal again. That it was finally going to be okay. Now, I could have kicked myself.

I ran into my house, up the stairs, and into my room. I didn't ever want to leave again. Didn't want to talk about it with Angelina, when she got home. Didn't want to think about it.

The old nightmare returned that night, turning my entire body into a lead weight and my mind into a caged animal.

You really thought that you could re-enter the real world? Xavier taunted me from deep inside my head. You actually believed that you could make a stand?

_What do you want from me?_ I cried silently.

Only for you to stay in your place.

I woke up wondering if it had really been just another dream, or if he had actually been in my mind.

Then I had to wonder whether it really mattered.


	10. Joy

Chapter 9: Joy  
  
Before I knew it, Christmas decorations were popping up all over the place, people were hanging out their lights, and the group was choosing Secret Santas. It was a tradition we'd followed all through high school. We met at Jasmine's house to draw names, like we always did. She made a big show out of shaking the hat with the slips of paper inside. I looked at the circle of faces, flushed and sparkling from the cold outside, and wondered how I must look to them.  
  
Isobel wasn't there (after all, who would want to associate with anyone who associates with freaks?), but I was surprised to see that Reese was. I guess he'd become an honorary clique member. I had avoided him ever since we'd gone sledding together, but he didn't look any angrier than usual.  
  
Last year, I'd drawn Stephen's name. That had been easy: I'd begged a ride to the mall, braved one of those freaky stores with black lights and multi-pierced employment, and picked out a T-shirt that read, _This Is A One-Outfit Day_. He had worn it to school the first chance he got.  
  
**   
  
The crowds raised the temperature in the mall by about seven hundred degrees. Angelina and I shed our jackets and hats immediately.  
  
So who'd you get? I asked.  
  
I could tell you, she came right back, but then I'd have to modify your memory.  
  
I shuddered. I'll tell you. I got Jasmine.  
  
Thanks. My lips are still sealed.  
  
I shoved her. She shoved back. A lady in horn-rimmed glasses stopped pushing a double stroller and frowned at us.  
  
Anywho, I'm planning on getting her one of those CDs that she likes so much. The ones with the gongs and moaning.  
  
Wise choice, young grasshopper. She changed the subject while we walked toward the Record Refuge. So, Dad wants us to come visit him when break starts.  
  
I stared. You did not tell me this. Don't tell me you said yes.  
  
I said it was a very probable yes. I didn't think you'd mind. Do you?  
  
She just wasn't getting it. No. I mean, I want to go see him. I miss him, and it would be good to get away from... I stopped and started again. From everything. But that's not the point. I don't like that you just assumed that it would be okay with me.  
  
But it is, so... She held up her hands. Okay, I get it. Next time, I'll ask. I just can't stand the idea of spending the holidays cooped up with the Joanne and Andrew.  
  
And speaking of the Dynamic Duo... I pointed.  
  
She followed my gesture. What are they doing here?  
  
Mom and Andrew stood by the fountain in full festive garb. He was actually wearing a tie with tiny candy canes printed on it, and she was wearing a red sweater, a holly-leaf pin, and _leggings_. How gross. She was also brandishing a stack of papers, and I was reminded for one sick moment of her door-to-door rounds with Julian.  
  
Evasive maneuvers, Angelina muttered. It's a mall -- there are plenty of places to hide.  
  
I nodded, instantly forgiving her for her premature assumption. The only time I can remember staying mad at her was for a horrible April Fool's prank back in seventh grade.  
  
Before we could vanish into the crowd, our mother actually yoo-hooed. I could tell that Angelina was mortified, and to tell you the truth, I sort of was, too. We've been spotted, I whispered. If we don't go over there, we'll never hear the end of it.  
  
she whispered. but she let me drag her anyway.  
  
What are you two going here? Andrew asked suspiciously.  
  
They're teenage girls, Mom told him. They like to shop. I was one too, once, you know.  
  
my sister mouthed, and I stifled a laugh in my sleeve. We're shopping for presents, she said aloud. What are you doing here?  
  
Andrew waved a leaflet. Gaining support.  
  
I groaned, and didn't even try to hide it, when I saw the familiar Citizens for Improved Morale logo at the top of the paper. In the media blitz that annually saturates the holiday season, it began, it's important to remember what the holiday is really about. I scanned it, surpised and a little suspicious myself to see that it made no mention of banning books.  
  
See? It's not just about censorship, Andrew said. Our organization is meant to stress the importance of family values and cooperation.  
  
He'd played this riff when he'd bragged about the list he'd presented the elementary school librarian with at the beginning of the school year. Those exact same words followed by the phrase suggested reading material to provoke the right morals. Everyone at school thinks that's exactly what you're about, I said carefully.  
  
They're still uneducated. Andrew shook his head in a pompous sort of way. Teenage life today is so soulless.  
  
You shouldn't care what you're friends think, Mom added, following this with a quote from her newest self-help endeavor. Individualism is the gift that keeps on giving.'  
  
All of a sudden, I was really, really glad that we were getting away from these two.  
  
**  
  
When I found a small jewelry box in the pocket of my backpack, containing a gold bracelet with light-green stones, I was pleased and a little suspicious as I tried to remember when I'd left it unattended. In chorus, obviously; we had to leave our bags by the door. And in gym, of course. Angelina was in my gym class, since they were organized alphabetically. Reese and Isobel were both in chorus with me, but Isobel hadn't been in the drawing.  
  
We got together again closer to the actual holiday, since Angelina and I were going away. As tradition dictated, somewhere over the course of the evening, we were supposed to reveal to each other whose Secret Santas we were. Kevin revealed right away that he'd been the one to give Angelina the book about vampires that she liked so much (Buying another woman gifts? Jasmine joked. I should be jealous.) but it was a while before anyone else came clean. I didn't even look at people's faces, like I used to, to see if I could get a hint. Reese's eyes were hidden by sunglasses (in the snow? There was such a thing about carrying the outcast bit too far), anyway.  
  
I mentioned this to him later, when Angelina was telling Jasmine about the new angle for the gossip column in the school paper. Why the shades? It's winter.  
  
It's part of the look,was his explanation.  
  
What look?  
  
The look, he replied as if that explained everything.  
What, do you want people to think you're possessed? Of course, that wasn't what I was really afraid of.  
  
Not really.  
  
I didn't think so. I mean, why would anyone want anyone to think that?  
  
I think it's like listening to alternative music or dressing all in black, Reese said. He saw me sweep my eyes from the hood of his black sweatshirt down to his black boots. Okay, yeah. It's part of my image -- I guess you've figured that out by now.  
  
Why do you do it?  
  
Because I've got this need to be The one who...', you know? The one who wears black. The one who plays melancholy music on his air guitar. The one who writes bad poetry... He trailed off like he was embarrassed.  
  
I politely ignored it. I guess people want to have things that make them special, 'cause they're scared that they'll lose themselves if they try to be like everyone else.  
  
Yeah, but you're not like that.  
  
You mean, I'm not the girl who sings really well' or the girl who never talks in class?'  
  
Well, you're both those things, he said, and I blushed. No, really. And he actually grinned.  
  
Thank you, I mumbled. The awkwardness was starting to build again. I don't think I've ever seen you smile. You should make a habit of it.  
  
So should you.  
  
I made a feeble attempt, then started playing with the clasp of my bracelet.  
  
Reese said suddenly.  
  
  
  
Peridot is what that stone's called. It symbolizes something, but I'm not sure what. Now he just looked embarrassed. I guess I threw the card away when I bought the bracelet.  
  
It was from you? I asked like an idiot.  
  
Duh. I'm technically Jewish, and I don't know how I let Jamie talk me into this.  
  
Thank you again, I said softly. But wasn't it expensive?  
  
He looked even more embarrassed. I work weekends at the Postern Gate, he said, naming a New Age store in Fisherman's Horizon. Gives me a discount. He looked up suddenly.  
  
Damn that word.  
  
Reese pointed at the ceiling. Check it out. Mistletoe.  
  
Just our luck.   
  
You don't think maybe... he began.  
  
  
  
He didn't finish, and I guess he wasn't planning to. Instead, he kissed me long enough for it to mean something, but quickly enough so the others wouldn't notice and start squealing. When it was over, I didn't know what to think. Romance hadn't exactly been on my list up until now. Survival was at the top of this list, followed by the courage to make speaking up for myself a regular occurence. And this moment was one of the few where neither seemed like too much to hope for.  



	11. Spring

A/N: Another day, another chapter, another song that I do not own. This one's Michelle Branch's. Read on!  
  
Chapter 10: Spring  
  
Since he was gone, there wasn't much that anyone could do. Whenever Jeff, Brian, or Pat called me thereafter, I ignored it. When anyone mentioned him, asking increasingly stupid questions, I pretended I didn't know what they were talking about. When Isobel apologized, I lied and said it was okay, just so I wouldn't have to think about it, not now, not ever.  
  
Stupid mode of coping, but what else do you want?  
  
Instead, I threw myself full-force into other activities. I concentrated on raising my grades, which had taken a nosedive after the first couple months of school; on hitting just the right note in chorus; on letting Reese know I was available, even though I think he noticed that my laugh was just a little too loud and my hair-tossing just a little too rehearsed. When he asked me if I was spoken for, with the prom coming up, I said that I would think about it.  
  
It was March, and the snow was melting and turning the ground all swampy. I was putting the finishing touches on an outline for a history paper that was supposed to be ten pages long; how I was going to fill up that much space was completely beyond me.  
  
Angelina was up in her room, Andrew was working late, and Mom was out shopping with Charity. I was almost too good at convincing myself that I was sorry I'd said the things I had said to her and Darren. I guess that I really was. After all, they didn't know how to handle this any more than I did.  
  
In any case, it was too late to worry about it now. Even though I wished that I had gotten to see Stephen when he came to visit last Christmas. His parents had strictly forbidden it. I had barely spoken to him in months, had tried to convince myself that he didn't want to see me, no matter how much I wanted -- needed -- to see him.  
  
To this day, I don't know why that thought popped into my head all of a sudden. Maybe someone planted it there. Which was why I tried to tell myself that it was a stupid idea, that I'd be taking him completely by surprise, that the last place I wanted to go was anywhere near Xavier. They were all sensible reasons, and everyone says I'm a sensible person.  
  
But right now, my common sense had gone on vacation without even leaving a note.  
  
I clambered up the stairs and into my room, searching frantically for the piece of paper on which his new address was scribbled. For a horrible moment, I thought I'd thrown it out, but it was in my desk drawer, sandwiched in the middle of a stack of photographs. A few of them fell to the ground, and my heart stopped.  
  
They were old pictures -- taken at the beginning of eighth grade. We had used Violet as an excuse to enjoy one more year of trick-or-treating. She was wearing a lacy dress and Frankenstein makeup that Isobel had helped apply. Isobel was the Bride of Dracula, and I was decked out in black fake leather as your classic biker chick. I had applied stick-on tattoos everywhere I could manage to show skin.  
  
Stephen was wielding a squirt gun and wearing sunglasses with the lenses turned around backward. One half of his black trench coat was held open to display miniature boxes of Apple Jacks and Lucky Charms. I smiled and shook my head, wishing I could remember what the joke had been. All I could recall was us covering half the houses in town, dodging shaving-cream warriors and collecting more candy than the four of us put together could eat. We separated it into piles while we watched cheesy old horror movies.  
  
Hey, Phoebe, what are you doing? Angelina leaned against the doorframe.  
  
I looked up, jolted back to the present. When will Mom be back?  
  
She shrugged. Not until this evening. Why? Going somewhere?  
  
I nodded.  
  
Her eyes gleamed. I won't tell if you don't want me to. Swear on the pamphlets.  
  
I'm going to that place, I told her now. To see Stephen.  
  
It's about time! she exclaimed.  
  
I agreed. It is.  
  
**  
  
The Institute was located in Bayville, a little more than an hour away from Wallglass. Traffic gave me plenty of time to think, to try to plan what I was going to say to him and what I could do to avoid whatever unpleasant company he'd fallen into.  
  
Despite my trepidation, I was actually excited, and even found myself singing along with the CD player at one point.  
  
_It's been a long, long time since I looked into the mirror  
I guess that I was blind  
Now my reflection's getting clearer  
Now that you're gone, things won't ever be the same again  
There's not a minute that goes by, every hour of every day  
You're such a part of me, but I just pulled away  
Well, I'm not the same girl you used to know  
I wish I said the words I never showed  
  
I know you had to go away  
I died just a little  
And I feel it now, you're the one I need  
I believe that I would cry just a little  
Just to have you back now  
Here with me  
  
You know that silence is loud when all you hear is your heart  
And I wanted so badly just to be a part  
Of something strong and true  
But I was scared and left it all behind..._  
  
Did he miss me? Was he angry? Maybe I deserved it.  
  
I drove through town, up the winding road that split a large circle of trees. Midway up, a gruff voice began to speak, seemingly out of nowhere. To my credit, I didn't scream, but I think I would have if I hadn't realized first that the voice came from a small speaker box by the side of the road. Who goes there? it repeated.  
  
Oh, for the love of Mike. Phoebe Corlisle, I replied. I'm here to see a friend of mine.  
  
The voice sounded suspicious.   
  
I told him. There was a long pause, then whoever it was said, The professor says to keep going.  
  
Well, naturally. I wouldn't dream of proceeding if he didn't like the idea.  
  
I drove through the mammoth gates. The place was huge from the outside, and just as elaborate on the inside. I was saved from gaping right away, though. Someone had obviously told Stephen that I was there, because he was waiting in the impressive foyer when I entered.  
  
For a moment, we just stood there, looking at each other. I took in all the little details, from his hair (which was frizzier than ever) to his T-shirt (_I Only Do What The Voices In My Head Tell Me To Do_) to the sneakers he'd once worn day in, day out, for six weeks. It's okay, he mumbled. That you didn't tell me you were coming.  
  
Hello would be nice, stranger, I said.  
  
  
  
Close enough. I gasped as he put his arms around me and swung me off the ground. I thought your power was mind reading, not super strength! Over his shoulder, I could see several assorted figures entering.  
  
Xavier was among them. I half expected him to say something like, What a touching scene. But he simply sat there with his hands folded under his chin. I thought I heard his laughter filling my head, but I could have been imagining it.  
  
**  
  
Stephen showed me around, pausing here and there to wave to teenagers in various stages of freakiness. In between, he asked me how I'd been. I admitted that I'd seen better days, and told him about the fight I'd had with his parents.   
  
I also admit to jumping when something blue and fuzzy appeared literally out of thin air in front of us and greeted me in what I think was German. I apologized. He looked like he was used to it.  
  
Turned out his name was Kurt, he got that a lot, and he was one of Stephen's closer friends at that place. The Chinese girl who asked if I was a new recruit was Jubilee (very cool name), and the short brown-haired kid who ran up to us a little while later, and actually whistled when he saw me, was Jamie Madrox, otherwise known as Multiple. I could see why when he crashed into the doorframe in excitement.  
  
We had sat down on the window seat to talk some more when someone behind us -ed. I turned slowly to face a guy a year or so older than I was. He was wearing some kind of bizarre tight-fitting outfit with a large across the front, and his face was partly hidden by a red visor.  
  
Who's that? I whispered.  
  
Stephen said grimly.  
  
Who's she? Trouble demanded.  
  
This is my friend Phoebe. She's visiting.  
  
Did the professor authorize this?  
  
I opened my mouth, but Stephen intercepted. Yes, Cyclops. Go away. Then he looked like he immediately regretted what he'd said.  
  
Because if he hadn't, I might think she was a spy. The X-Men can't be too careful about that kind of thing. You know that.  
  
She's not --  
  
I held up my hand. Allow me. No, Cyclops. Go away.  
  
He did, in what would have been a huff if he hadn't obviously considered himself above that sort of thing.  
  
You're catching on, Stephen informed me.  
  
Why, thank you. That's his name? Seriously?  
  
His name's Scott. Cyclops is, um, a nickname.  
  
What kind of a nickname? Once I started asking questions, I couldn't stop. Why was he dressed like that? And who the hell are the X-Men? I looked him straight in the eye. What haven't you been telling me about this place?


	12. Disbelief

Chapter 11: Disbelief  
  
It's nothing, Stephen mumbled.  
  
I raised my eyebrow in what I thought was a pretty good imitation of Angelina. That guy didn't look like nothing. He looked like something. He still didn't answer. I'm waiting.  
  
He took a deep breath. You're probably not going to like this.  
  
Try me.  
  
You asked who the X-Men were. Another deep breath. Well, the thing is... that's us.  
  
Us who?  
  
Scott. Kurt. Jubilee. Me. All the kids here.  
  
I laughed. It sounded false. So that's what you call yourselves, huh? X for Xavier. I get it. Cute.  
  
I think he knew that he could have lied just then. Said that that was all. And I think he knew that I would have believed it. There's more, he said.  
  
My laughter faded. More? Does it explain the goofy outfit that Cyclops character was wearing? What, you have one like that, too?  
  
Not exactly like that, he said matter-of-factly. No visor. We wear the uniforms while we're training, and while we're fighting the Brotherhood.  
  
The what? I couldn't stand it. Stephen, it's me. Phoebe. Cut the crap, stop talking in circles, and tell me _what is going on here_.  
  
So he did. See, Professor Xavier has this idea, he began. That someday mutants and humans will be able to get along, you know? That we'll be able to make them understand us. Problem is, we're not the only mutants in the world. There are these others, who were recruited by some lady named Mystique. A shapeshifter. She was before my time. Anyway, they don't really like ordinary people all that much.  
  
I was beginning to see where this was going. And it's your job to stop them.  
  
Something like that, yeah. We spend most of our time -- when we're not in school -- training to use our powers. All the others have code names, but I don't. Not yet.  
  
So help me understand something, I said. Xavier wants people to accept mutants, and vice versa.  
  
he agreed.   
  
This Brotherhood of Evil Mutants or whatever, they're angry at normal humans, God knows why --  
  
It's because they think you're inferior.  
  
I debated commenting on the and decided to let it go. Fine. It's because they think we're inferior, and that we should be rubbed out. Am I right so far?  
  
  
  
And Xavier couldn't let that happen because of this dream of his, so he set up this place to create his own little mutant army? My thoughts were coming into focus now for the first time since I'd yelled at Charity and Darren. For someone with minimal experience at speaking her mind, I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted to say.  
  
I guess. But it helps us, too.  
  
I don't doubt that, I said sharply. Can I ask you one more question?  
  
  
  
What do the ordinary people think about this? Most of them don't even seem to realize that it's going on.  
  
They don't, he said simply. Most of them don't even know that mutants really exist. They're scared of what they can't understand, you know that. Professor Xavier thought it would be better if we waited until they could accept us, and then let them know.  
  
So we had to accept them to know they existed, but we obviously had to know they existed to accept them. Lovely.  
  
That's another thing that the Brotherhood doesn't get, Stephen went on. At the beginning of the school year, before I came, Lance -- he leads them now -- got up in front of everyone at the school soccer game and spilled the beans on all of us here at the Institute.  
  
Really? That can't be good.  
  
It wasn't. And it probably would have gotten worse if the professor hadn't fixed things.  
  
Like so many other points in the bad joke my life had become since last fall, I knew what was coming. And again like those other times, I felt like covering my ears and pretending that if I couldn't hear it, it wasn't true. Fixed things how?  
  
He looked at me in a sort of direct, analytical way that I didn't ever remember him using, as if he were sizing up what my reaction would be. (For that matter, he was probably doing exactly that.) Then he told me.  
  
And I had the strongest impulse to say that I didn't believe him. But I was done hiding from the truth just because I didn't want to see it. And you think that was a good idea.  
  
He shrugged. He had to do it to protect us. And them. It's no big deal -- I've been learning to do the same thing.  
  
You're not serious, I said flatly.  
  
No, you're wrong. I am serious, for maybe the first time in my life. You know that I've always been kind of the oddball, because I don't really have anything to make me special.  
  
How can you say that? I thought you were special. So did Isobel. So did your family. How'd they react to all this X-Men nonsense?  
  
They don't know, he said casually. I'll probably tell them soon. Anyway, you also know that I wasn't really good at anything. I think I can be good at this. So does everyone else.  
  
At controlling people's minds, I stated.  
  
It's for the greater good, he said, almost smugly.  
  
How do you know?  
  
Xavier said so.  
  
Oh, boy. Xavier is wrong.  
  
A couple of kids who were passing by the door actually gasped at this. One, who had two streaks of white at the front of her hair, started to say something, but her friend hurried her away.  
  
You've really changed, Phoebe, Stephen informed me.  
  
That was the last straw. _I've_ changed! Listen to yourself: I believe it because Xavier says so.' It's okay to control people's minds for the greater good.' What have they done to you here?  
  
I thought you would understand, he said, his voice rising. I would have stood up and walked away right then and there if there hadn't been a fair amount of hurt in his voice. But I guess I'm not really surprised.  
  
What's that supposed to mean? I didn't wait for an answer. The only thing I don't understand is why he's teaching you to be just as prejudiced as he thinks we would be.  
  
Is something the matter? a new voice asked. When I turned to face the speaker, he smiled at my expression. I know what you must think of me by now, Phoebe. But as I'm sure he has told you, you have it all wrong.   
  
  
  
  



	13. Fight

Chapter 12: Fight  
  
We understand your suspicions, Phoebe, Xavier said smoothly. But you completely misunderstand us.  
  
The three of us (no, make that the four of us; I hadn't noticed the hairy guy standing in the corner and looking all kinds of mean) were sitting in a panelled office that made me feel small and intensely claustrophobic at the same time. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who was feeling uncomfortable, but I was evidently the only one who looked it. If I was glad he hadn't asked for just me, it was because I was sure that if he was going to be screwing with my head again, he wouldn't do it with another telepath around... would he?  
  
Unless Stephen was so far gone that he honestly believed that anything Xavier did was perfectly okay.  
  
What's there not to understand? I shot back. You think that you have the right to decide what's best for ordinary people?  
  
That's where you're wrong. The very reason the X-Men were assembled was to defend ordinary people, for whom I actually have a great deal of respect.  
  
If you had so much respect for us, you wouldn't think we needed saving. Or that you had any right to do what you did at that soccer game that I heard about.  
  
I did what had to be done. They weren't ready to hear the truth, especially from someone like Lance who has _no_ respect for them. We remain anonymous for our own protection as well as theirs. It is human nature to fear what is different, and fear can lead to hysteria just as it has in the past.  
  
I don't think you did it because we might be afraid of you, I heard myself saying. I think you did it because you're afraid of us.  
  
Phoebe, you've really changed, Stephen spoke up. You used to be so trusting... and accepting... and...  
  
I finished for him. Well, you're right. I have changed. Why are either of you so surprised? Do you think for one minute that mutants are the only ones who have to come to terms with situations like this?  
  
Case in point, said Xavier. Your reaction to your friend's mutation is a perfect example of what we are trying to avoid.  
  
I don't have a problem with the fact that he's a mutant, I said, and it wasn't a lie. Not anymore. I have a problem with this whole setup. If you're reading this, whoever you are, you might think I was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. You might think that I had forgotten that Xavier could control people's minds, and therefore do some real damage if he so desired.  
  
So far, I've refrained from using that particular talent of mine. Then, in case I didn't get it, So far. You are not my enemy, Phoebe, and I hope I am not yours.  
  
He's right, Stephen chimed in.  
  
You really believe that?  
  
  
  
And you're really happy here?  
  
He nodded. Don't you trust me? I knew somehow that what he really meant was, _You don't think he's controlling me, do you?_  
  
I said firmly. I trust you. If I thought that your miraculous change of heart was somehow _his_ doing, then I'd find a way to take all of you down. But unlike some people, I don't believe that others are at fault just because they think differently than the way I want them to. I wanted so badly to believe that I was wrong, that there was nothing going on here that would make me want to grab my friend by his ear, drag him outside, and drive away from here as fast as Joanne's additudinal station wagon could carry us.  
  
Take all of us down? Xavier echoed. I'm not sure I like that kind of talk, my child.  
  
I was about to say, Too bad, when I recognized the way he had spoken to me. I realized that I _had_ been incredibly stupid, not incredibly brave. I also realized that the nightmare had seized me again, that I was frozen in my seat, and as he crept inside my head again, I couldn't even scream. I couldn't breathe. I could barely think...  
  
Stephen's voice was very far away. Are you all right?  
  
She's fine, kid, said the hairy guy. Just let him do his thing.  
  
There's nothing to be frightened of. Forget your fears. They're useless, pointless. This has not been an easy time for you, Phoebe. Why do you want to remember it?  
  
A good question, that. The pressure on my mind increased, and I knew, as always, that it would be so easy to give in, like sinking back into your warm bed on a cold morning. To let him dampen my fear and anger and hurt, take away the memories of the past few months, allow me to believe that it was just some crazy dream and that everything would be all right for both me and... and... this boy who was sitting complacently near me, waiting for me to take his side  
  
_(the right side the only side)_  
  
That's it, Xavier whispered.  
  
I tried to hold onto the thoughts and memories, but already they were becoming cloudy. My anger was fading. Soon I wouldn't even know what I was losing.  
  
Almost there.  
  
How could I have even thought that resisting would have done any good? I wasn't exactly the type to fight. Not the type to make waves. I had always just accepted what life handed me, telling myself that it was all for the best.  
  
Even when it wasn't.  
  
Even when it meant losing the best friend I had ever known.  
  
Even when it meant losing myself, and even when I'd never get another chance to correct my mistake. Now that I had finally stood up for what I knew to be right, was I going to let him drag me down again? _Really_?  
  
I lifted one arm -- it was like moving through molasses -- and swiped it across the impressive wooden desk. Papers and pens fell to the floor, as did a small glass paperweight, which shattered. The noise startled Xavier, who winced as if I'd physically hit him. But my mind cleared, and I was able to stand, though barely -- I wasn't sure my legs could really hold me.  
  
Stay out of my head, you creep. I barely recognized my own voice. I mean it.  
  
I wasn't trying to -- he protested.  
  
Stephen began.  
  
I didn't wait for either of them to finish. I was out the door before I could think twice about what I was doing.  
  



	14. Solace

Chapter 13: Solace  
  
_Don't mess! Don't mess!  
Don't mess with the best 'cause the best don't mess!  
Don't fool! Don't fool!  
Don't fool with the cool 'cause the cool don't fool!  
From the east  
To the west  
Bayville is the best!_  
  
The dynamic chants floated over the fence, ever so faintly. I had driven away as fast as I could, but before I'd gotten too far, I was crying too hard to see and had parked near the high school. Now I was leaning against the car, taking great gulps of fresh air. The cheerleaders sounded full of pep and spirit and a happiness that I knew I'd never feel again, that I wondered if they were leaking. I had tried out for cheerleading in ninth grade to try to hold onto Jerry Vincent, who was convinced that things were different now that we were in high school -- apparently he was looking for an entirely different thing in a girl.  
  
_That's good -- think about stupid things, normal things, things that don't hurt._  
  
When Jerry and I had broken up a few days after I joined the squad, Isobel and Stephen had come over to console me. Isobel had told me that he had been a jerk, definitely not the right one, and I had sobbed that I wouldn't know the right one if he was sitting right in front of me. Stephen had responded with, Yeah, but he'll probably see you.  
  
Now Jerry was, last I heard, away at military school; Isobel thought she had to watch what she said around me; and Stephen was trapped in a bad comic-book adventure like the ones we had devoured way back when. Except this time the story was real, and there weren't any guarantees on a happy ending.  
  
I wished I could say that he hadn't really meant what he'd said. That if Xavier had been willing to brainwash me, he was perfectly willing to brainwash these X-Men of his. But I knew that he had only done what he had done because he had considered me a threat.  
  
_Are you making excuses for him? Is that what you're doing?  
  
I didn't say he was right, and I definitely didn't say he was justified. Any more than he was justified during the soccer game incident. I just meant that I don't think it's something he does to his disciples.  
  
Then why didn't Stephen try to help you?_  
  
I didn't have any answer for this except more tears.  
  
I was immediately distracted from them by a girl who'd just walked into the parking lot and stopped by an empty space. She stared at it as if she expected a car to appear out of nowhere, then let out a string of violent curses.  
  
I pushed what had just happened away once more, and asked if she was okay.  
  
She raised her eyes slowly. What's it to you?  
  
I gave a loud, undignified sniffle. You looked like you were in trouble. What she looked like, actually, was that she'd fit in pretty well with Karen and Cindy's group. Short blond hair, tight jeans and tighter T-shirt, and about a pound of makeup. Never mind.  
  
And you look like you just...  
  
If she said, _lost your best friend_, I would get back in my car and run her over.  
  
...had, like, the mother-in-law of all freak-outs.  
  
It's none of your business.  
  
Probably not, she agreed. Not that I'm going anywhere, now that the idiots I live with stole my car. Well, Lance's car, really. But they all _knew_ I had detention. I'll probably walk. Say, you're not from around here, are you?  
  
I was visiting a friend. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I waved my hand in the direction from which I'd come. Up at the Xavier Institute.  
  
This time, I was on the receiving end of her stare. No fooling? You got a friend who's a mutant?  
  
I took an involuntary step back.   
  
So, are you one, too? she demanded.  
  
Do I look like one?  
  
She folded her arms across her stomach. Do I?  
  
Another step, until my back was flat against the car.  
  
The girl either didn't notice or pretended not to. And I'm _guessing_, by your look, that it didn't go well.  
  
I shrugged.  
  
The girl rolled her green-lidded eyes. Lemme guess. He told you that he was one of them now, that there were other paths besides the one you'd chosen, and that he couldn't believe he'd once listened to you. Am I close?  
  
I was speechless. Could the whole world suddenly read my mind? Not... in so many words, I managed. But yeah. How'd you know?  
  
On account of it happened to me, and to a friend of mine, she said casually. He got Kitty to talk to him again, but he was way lucky. Lemme give you a piece of free advice: Once they go to the X-Geeks, there isn't any turning'em back. You'd better get on with your life. I did, and it turned out okay for me. I'm living with some guys who don't think much of what Baldy has to say, either, and I'm pretty happy.  
  
Before I could say anything else, she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked away, tossing a Think about it back at me.  
  
I watched her leave. What did she know, anyway? _Get on with your life._ Somehow I knew that it wouldn't be that easy. But if I could survive what I'd just been through, I figured I could survive whatever happened next, even if I never saw him again. But somehow, I know I will.  
  
**  
  
When I stood up to him, I was doing what I thought was right. We are not weak. We're not helpless. We don't need them. But I'm going to give them time to realize the truth, let them figure it out at their own pace, just like they should do for us.  
  
If I were weak, I wouldn't be thinking that even though it's not too late for me to turn out to be a mutant myself, it's not something I particularly want.  
  
And if I were helpless, I wouldn't be surviving. That's something that we humans are pretty good at, and, speaking for my people, I think we're handling it pretty well.  
  
A new school year is on its way. A new beginning. I don't know where things stand with me and Isobel, or with me and Reese. I don't know if Stephen and I will ever see each other again, or what the future holds for two separate races. All I know is that whatever happens, this time, I'm not going to run.  
  
Later, in my own room, I took out the picture, the one I now know I'm not going to tear up. In it, I'm perched on the hood of the car that's half Joanne's and half mine, laughing my head off. Stephen leans one elbow against the car, trying not to smile. His T-shirt reads, _Proud Member of the Secret Society_, and I don't doubt that he was the one who cracked me up, like he always knew how to do.  
  
I knew that if he really hated it there, if -- _when_ -- he realizes what Xavier almost did, he'll make his own escape. And that's something he has to realize for himself, too.  
  
I stared at the picture for a long time. _This is how I'm going to remember you_, I promised silently. _Always_. And I hoped that he heard me.  
  
A/N: This was the last chapter, but I left it open like that because a sequel is definitely in order. Let me know if you're interested, and/or if you have any ideas. Thanks for reviewing. LONG LIVE THE CAUSE!!!!  
  
  



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